If a perfume were a painting, I think Ormonde Woman would be one of Thomas Gainsborough’s famous landscapes. The perfume by the niche luxury house of Ormonde Jayne is reminiscent of the famed 18th century painter’s portrayal of nature, all bright light contrasted by dark intensity, hidden mystery, and hints of rich warmth. Gainsborough created a dream-like, hazy impression through soft brush strokes and, yet, there is the dark verisimilitude of the Dutch painters, like Rubens, who inspired him. Light and dark, depth and surfaces, reality and a dream — it is all simultaneously evoked by the brilliance that is Ormonde Woman.

The unisex perfume was the very first fragrance put out by Ormonde Jayne upon its debut in 2002, and it is the luxury perfume house’s signature scent. It is a scent of some renown, has received a five-star rating and was named as one of the 100 great classics by the perfume expert, Luca Turin, in The Little Black Book of Perfume: 100 Great Classics.

I’d heard vague, breathy mentions from people of this “amazing” scent, but never really paid much heed until some months ago when one of my oldest friends — who knows almost nothing about perfume — asked me about it. I was so taken aback by her interest (and in a niche perfume, no less!) that I ordered a sample. In all honesty, it took me months to get around to testing Ormonde Woman because I tend to be put off by things with a lot of hype. (I still haven’t seen the movie, Titantic. And I never will.) So my first foray into the Ormonde Jayne brand was with Tolu. It captivated me and rendered me weak with joyous admiration. It also made me determined to explore the brand’s signature perfume. And, you know what? The hype over Ormonde Jayne is fully warranted!

Ormonde Jayne is described on Fragrantica as a chypre, but I think Tania Sanchez has a better description in her book with Luca Turin entitled Perfumes: the A-Z Guide. There, she categorizes it as a “forest chypre.” (In a nutshell, a chypre perfume is a scent that begins with citrus notes and ends with either oakmoss, patchouli, musk, or some combination thereof. You can read a more detailed explanation of the important chypre category of fragrances in the Glossary.) Ms. Sanchez’ five-star review of Ormonde Woman helps explain, in part, why the perfume is so special:

Of the many feminine perfumes since [Chanel’s] Bois des Iles that have been composed around woody notes, the others that I can recall have been cozy, powdery-rosy, touched with mulling spices, with the warm furred feeling of a napping cat by the fire, or, more recently, hippie-inspired simple concoctions meant to evoke mostly the gorgeous smell of hard-to-get sandalwood oil. Ormonde Woman is the only abstract woody perfume I know that triggers the basic involuntary reflex, of stepping into a forest, to fill one’s lungs to bursting with the air. This is a full-fledged perfume with all of the sophistication of Bois des Iles and its ilk, but none of the sleepy comfort. Instead, it has the haunting, outdoors witchiness of tall pines leaning into the night — a bitter oakmoss inkiness, a dry cedar crackle, and a low, delicious, pleading sweet amber, like the call of a faraway candy house. Lulling and unsettling in equal measure, and truly great.

Gainsborough. “Moonlight Landscape with Pool.”

I agree in large part with Ms. Sanchez’s review. I certainly agree that Ormonde Woman can be lulling and unsettling in equal measure, but I would also add some other adjectives to the mix: “mesmerizing,” “hypnotic,” and “unisex” for starters. However, I think it’s almost regrettable that she used the word “witchiness” in her paean to the perfume. It has led to a plethora of reviews talking about Ormonde Woman’s witchy aspect with a few unsettled posters even writing that they feel it is a scent best suited for Halloween. I think the adjective minimizes the perfume to something that is only a tiny part of its essence, and hardly the sum total.

The Tsuga tree or, “Black Hemlock.”

The source of all this magical business stems from one simple cause: Black Hemlock. It is the key to the Ormonde Woman and, though it may conjure up images of warlocks and witches, it is actually just a type of spruce tree. To be more specific, it is the name for a pine tree of the Tsuga genus. Ormonde Jayne was the very first perfume house to use the ingredient — a sign of its innovative, creative approach to perfumery — and, according to Wikipedia, others have followed suit.

Linda Pilkington, the founder, nose and soul behind the Ormonde Jayne brand, talked about the Black Hemlock note and the persona of the Ormonde Woman with the blog Riktig Parfym (formerly Fragrant Fanatic). I highly recommend reading the interview; there, as in all the other interviews that I’ve read with Ms. Pilkington, she comes across as charming, down-to-earth, self-deprecating, open, direct, and full of warmth. (I realise that I’m starting to sound like a crazed “fan girl,” as Americans put it, about Ms. Pilkington. I plead guilty.) Her explanation of the ingredient is as follows:

Ormonde Woman is based on hemlock and there are 3 types of hemlock. There is the tree, the bush and the plant. The plant (which is not the hemlock used in OW) is poisonous and if you boil it and then drink the water you’ll first get a sensation that you’re feet are numbing and as the poison spreads through your body, you get paralyzed and die. This was used in 15th-16th centuries as a womans way to murder a man. As a woman usually is physically weaker she cannot strangle a man, but to boil a plant and put into his food isn’t usually a problem. And it’s still done today. So, the persona of Ormonde Woman is a woman who knows what she wants. She has long raven colored hair, wears a long black cape and rides through the woods at night, maybe to meet a lover?

Ormonde Woman and its notes are described on the company’s website as follows:

Beginning and ending with the unique scent of Black Hemlock absolute – rarely used in such luscious quality and quantity – this utterly hypnotic, unconventional and mysterious woody essence is combined with jasmine and violet absolute to create a dusky, seductive perfume.

Ormonde Woman opens on me with fresh, zesty citrus, bitter resin, a massive dollop of spice, and bright greens. At first, I thought it was like spicy grass but, after some contemplation, I think it’s more like fresh moss. Not oakmoss, per se, or, at least, not the usual oakmoss. There is none of the pungent, almost dusty, grey-mineralised aspects of the note. Instead, this is like the brightest moss were it jade green, wet from

Image: Moody. Source: Canadian Govt. Website.

dew, and covered with amberous spices. People are right when they say that it evokes the green, mossy floor of a forest. It is almost tinged with dark shadows; there is none of the sweet mildness of freshly cut grass on a summer’s day. That comes later. For now, the moss is wet and tinged by the cedar and sandalwood trees around it.

Yet, the real focus in the opening hour is the Black Hemlock. It is fascinating. Resinous evergreen with burnt notes and black licorice. The strength and prominence of the note seems to vary widely with the amount of the perfume used. In fact, I think the quantity you use may dramatically change your impression of the opening. The first time I tested Ormonde Jayne, I didn’t dab on a lot; only 2-3 tiny blots from the vial on each arm. With that amount, the Black Hemlock note was prominent, but not the sole focus. The second time, I dabbed on quite a bit (4-5 smears, approximating 2 big sprays per arm). The result was as if a black cloud had suddenly descended upon the forest. There was a massive, monumental dose of black licorice, much more of a burnt aroma, and a contrasting cool, chilled, mentholated impression. For some reason, it calls to mind the image of something like tar. Not the tar that they use to pave roads but, rather, the treacly, thick, blackish paste found in Marmite. Actually, there is more than just a visual similarity to Marmite. There is a quiet saltiness underpinning the sweet spice. It’s faint, flickering in the background like a ghost, but it’s there.

Antique Spice Drawer on Etsy. Source: Prairie Antiques.

In greater doses, the spice accords in the perfume also gain heft, and my impression of bright green grass or dewy moss become much less. The faintly lemony note of coriander and the lightly spice earthy-sweet notes of the cardamom were much more noticeable. But something else was apparent. Star anise. I could swear that I smelled the Chinese Five Spice mix, dominated by its star anise element. There was also a strong impression of spiced wood, almost like a faintly dusty spice drawer in an old cabinet where the wood has absorbed decades of strong spices.

Western Hemlock. Source: Puget Sound University.

The licorice was not only more prominent in greater doses the second time round, but so too were the mentholated, chilled camphor notes and the evergreen. Having never smelled Black Hemlock prior to now, I have no idea if the minty-mentholated notes come from the cedar or from the spruce/pine tree. Regardless, they become stronger and stronger until — 30 minutes in — the predominant note emanating from my arm is pine needles. They’re so fresh and concentrated, it’s as though you scraped them right off the tree and crushed them between your fingers.

An hour in, the pine needles fade and have their place taken by sandalwood. Ormonde Woman is actually the first time in a long time that I’ve smelled real, actual, genuine sandalwood in a truly prominent way. A large portion of the perfumes which claim to have that rare, exorbitantly expensive ingredient and which I’ve tested lately seem, to me, to have absolutely no visible, noticeable traces of it at all. In truth, after the recent test of one perfume which claimed to have sandalwood in its notes, I was starting to wonder if I even knew what it smelled like anymore.

Well, it’s here. And, it’s not synthetic! It is sweet, lightly smoky, like creamed honey and molten resin mixed with wood. I’m rather awed by its strength and character, given the scarcity of true sandalwood and its cost. In fact, the strength of the note here makes Ormonde Woman a modern call-back to those rich sandalwood orientals of the 1970s and 1980s, before the Mysore wood was over-harvested and had to be placed under government protection. The sandalwood mixes with a faintly aromatic, woody, cedar-y scent; with the slightly green-sweet-earthy aspect of cardamom; with the bright, dewy, wet moss; and with a vague breath of something floral. It is a play on bitter and sweet, woody and green, wet and dry.

That vague floral note soon turns into pure, sweet jasmine. Ms. Pilkington has said she likes to work with hedione, a compound often used in conjunction with Jasmine Absolute (which is a part of Ormonde Woman). Hedione lends a vaguely green, fresh tone to the jasmine here. When combined with the lemony fresh notes of the coriander, they cut through any possible indolic heaviness that the flower may have, leaving only sweetness and brightness. I’m afraid that jasmine is the only real floral note that I can smell; in neither of my two tests could I really smell the violets that others have noted. Frankly, violet seems like such a dainty flower that I don’t know how it could possibly compete with the heavy woods, the faintly smoke elements, the resins and the spices.

In the middle stage and the final dry-down, those latter accords still remain. On me, it’s all creamy, delicious, intoxicating sandalwood, resinous amber, and faintly lemony wood. There is still a faintly tarry, smoky note, though the mentholated, almost camphorous notes of the cedar (and Black Hemlock?) have mostly dissipated. There is also the mild sweetness of summer’s grass and the earthy greenness of vetiver dancing in the shadows, faint but there nonetheless.

I have the oddest visual image in my mind: a large, chewy, sort of brownie square. It’s tarry, black, smoky, and moist with bits of light-brown cedar chips sticking out of it and chunks of chilly black licorice. It’s speckled with little glowing orbs of sweet, honeyed amber that dot its surface and the whole thing is wrapped in a box filled with jade-green, dewy moss, sweet emerald-green grass, and delicate white jasmine.

Gainsborough. “Landscape with Cows and Human Figure.”

But, most of all, I feel as though I have entered a Gainsborough landscape through a dream. To me, Ormonde Woman is a perfume of great contrasts where the woods are dark and mysterious, drawn in realistic detail, but there are contrasts of shining bright light and parts where everything is soft, hazed, romantic and dreamy. One is jolted at first, then enveloped in softness. Based on my experience with Tolu, I think such contrasts are something that Ms. Pilkington does very well. They are also one reason why there is such depth and complexity to her scents.

It is utterly mesmerizing, and most definitely unisex. Not feminine, but unisex! I’ve read that the men’s counterpart, Ormonde Man, has oudh and pink peppers in it, and that it’s supposed to be much less sweet. I haven’t tried it to know but, frankly, I think a man would smell divine in Ormonde Woman. In fact, it seems to be a big hit with men due to the strongly woody notes and the Black Hemlock.

That said, I don’t think Ormonde Woman is for everyone. It will be too masculine for women who prefer lighter, sweeter or floral scents. My friend who initially asked me about it months ago enjoys light, airy, fresh green scents; for someone like her, Ormonde Woman would be far too much: too tarry, too spicy, too woody. In addition, the bitter aspect of Black Hemlock seems to have been a problem for a number of people, leading them to react quite strongly. Interestingly, a few perfume bloggers who recoiled upon first essay ended up falling in love with the fragrance some time later after trying it again. So much so that they bought a full bottle!

On Fragrantica, one male poster, “smcandsmc,” wrote something that I think sums up the fragrance perfectly:

Stunning. Wow. Grassy top lifted me off the ground, gorgeous rich middle keeps me suspended in mid air. […] Seriously having an out of body experience over this. Plotzing. When I read rhapsodic descriptions of the vintage classics in their vintage formulations that I will never experience, this is the depth, richness and quality I imagine.

The superb richness and quality that “smcandsmc” noted is a key characteristic of Ormonde Jayne scents. The perfumes consistently scream high-quality luxury in a way that has utterly transfixed me. I’m sure there will be some in the line that won’t suit my personal style, but the quality of those I’ve tried thus far cannot be denied. They have been outstanding across the board. You can tell that the highest quality ingredients were used in order to create the most luxurious, wonderfully indulgent, seductive experience possible. And the fragrances repeatedly meet the brand’s overall philosophy:

quality and true luxury, the pursuit of beauty and elegance. […]

[The return] to the golden age of perfumery, an elegant era when fragrance creation was a fine art.

Perhaps more importantly, Ormonde Jayne fragrances are approachable and wearable. They are not edgy, sometimes discordant, intellectual art that you would admire but rarely (or, in some cases, never) wear. I can see women and men alike wearing Ormonde Woman frequently, whether on special occasions, for a casual dinner, or just simply to the office (though I would advise caution with regard to the quantity used if you plan on wearing it there). Ormonde Woman has a high degree of concentration: 25% in its most basic form (which seems more akin to extrait de parfum for some other lines), so the sillage can be very strong depending on the amount sprayed. On me, Ormonde Woman wasn’t as strong or potent as Tolu, but it had good sillage for the first two hours, becoming close to the skin around 3 to 3.5 hours in. As a whole, it lasted around 6.5 hours on my perfume-consuming skin. On others, it generally seems to last a long time (8-10), though I’ve read some conflicting reports of its tenacity.

I could go on and on about both Ormonde Woman and the Ormonde Jayne line itself. Truth be told, my initial draft was well over 4,000 words! I have struggled to give you the essence without sounding like a crazed loon but, if space and my readers’ valuable time (not to mention patience) were not an issue, I would wax rhapsodic for several more hours about the astounding quality of the brand. The depth, the richness, the luxuriousness, the ease with which the perfumes transport you elsewhere upon first whiff, their almost lyrical nature….. it is a return to the “golden age of perfumery” indeed.

DETAILS:

Cost & Availability: Ormonde Woman is available in perfume extract (30%) and eau de parfum (25%) in 50 ml bottle, as well as in accompanying bath, lotion, cream and candle forms. It is available at the Ormonde Jayne boutique in London or on the company’s website. It is not sold in any department stores in the U.S. The website offers purchases in USD currency and, there, the cost of Ormonde Woman is as follows: a 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle of eau de parfum costs $126 (£80), while the pure parfum comes in a 1.7 oz/50 ml “premium French flacon with a gold OJ motif stopper and Japanese ribbons” and costs $300. There is a set of travel sized purse sprays (4 x 10ml) that costs $100 and a Discovery set of all 12 fragrances in 2 ml mini-sprays for $75. The perfume is also available at Harrods in London and, I’ve read, at Fortum & Mason. Please note that Harrods only sells Ormonde Woman in the expensive bottle for £184.00, not in the £80 bottle available on the brand’s own website. Ormonde Jayne fragrances are also sold in Brussels, Belgium at Senteurs d’Ailleurs (whose website is under construction, so I can’t link you to anything) and at Osswald in Zurich, Switzerland.

I highly recommend the Discovery Set which the Ormonde Jayne website describes as follows: “Ormonde Jayne’s Discovery Set is comprised of 12 x 2ml mini sprays of eau de parfum, together with a brochure explaining each perfume, all housed in a black and gold box… and whats more, the shipping is complimentary worldwide.”

Samples: You can also order samples of Ormonde Woman from various sample sites. I obtained my sample from Surrender to Chance which sells samples starting at $3.99 for half of the standard 1 ml vial. It is also offers Ormonde Woman in parfum concentration for the same starting price. Surrender to Chance ships worldwide for about $5.95 (though it’s a little bit more for larger orders over $75), and for $2.95 for all orders within the U.S., regardless of the size of the order.

Paradox: (noun) A seemingly absurb or self-contradictory statement that, when investigated, may well prove to be true. Tolu, from the luxe niche London house of Ormonde Jayne, is a paradox in the most mesmerizing way possible. It is an airy, breezy, narcotically heady, heavy, dewy green, freshly orange floral… no, I mean, lushly spicy amberous oriental, no, I mean, a woody, balsam and pine smoky floriental… It is a contradiction that delights, that keeps your nose plastered to your arm, that awes you with its heady, airy opulence, and that recalls the happiest moments of carefree youth while making you feel every inch a sophisticated adult. It is intoxicating. And I cannot recommend it enough.

Linda Pilkington, founder of Ormonde Jayne.

Ormonde Jayne is a high-end, niche London perfume house founded by Linda Pilkington in 2002. She sounds like a fascinating woman. According to her biography on the website, her passion for perfumery began early, as a teenager, and this “led Linda to her first career, growing and selling flowers by the roadside outside her Cheshire family home. She also learnt to make scented candles and bathing oils from craft sets and courses, and created beautiful scented cushions for birthday and Christmas presents.” After years spent travelling and exploring the world, working in places from South America, Africa and the Far East, soy bean farms to ice cream parlours, she returned to London where she began making her own perfumes. She showed her creations at a London trade show where she won repeatedly. And then she was asked to make “the perfect, scented candle” for Chanel itself. After that, in 2002, she opened her own boutique and her perfumes have received praise ever since, including a number of 5- and 4-star reviews from Luca Turin.

Ormonde Jayne’s philosophy is simple:

one of quality and true luxury, the pursuit of beauty and elegance. Our perfume library reposes on an exquisitely simple principle – extraordinarily beautiful scents using speciality oils not widely used in the perfume industry today.

Her goal is to return

to the golden age of perfumery, an elegant era when fragrance creation was a fine art, when essential oils and absolutes were allowed to infuse for a period of months before filtration and then allowed to mature again before bottling, resulting in a deeper, more complex perfume.

Honestly, I cannot recall the last time I was so impressed with a niche house upon my very first sniff, and I plan to investigate her whole line, sample by sample. My first exposure to Frederic Malle, Serge Lutens, Amouage, L’Artisan, Tom Ford, By Kilian, Caron, Montale, and a whole host of other lines never resulted in anything like this. My reactions to those houses varied from indifference to ambivalence, from liking to loving (but not feeling utterly compelled to buy), to truly not understanding what all the fuss was about. Ormonde Jayne is different. It’s not simply that Tolu was bewitching, but that the perfume smells unbelievably luxurious and rich in that genuinely old-school, classique manner of the haute French perfume houses of yesteryear. THIS is what perfumes used to be, almost across the board, and what they are so rarely today.

This is class. It is class, purity, and luxury made simple but, yet, also made fresh and modern at the same time. It’s like smelling the vintage version of some great classic, but made even better. No wonder Luca Turin seems to think that Ormonde Jayne is beating Caron and Guerlain at their own game. I hadn’t believed him when I read that statement a while back and, in truth, I don’t always agree with Mr. Turin, but dammit, he’s absolutely correct in this instance. “Tolu is the kind of fragrance Guerlain or Caron would be turning out regularly if all was right in the world[.]”

If I ever met Ms. Pilkington, I would hug her for returning some of my wide-eyed innocence and belief, after feeling far too long jaded, cynical and oh so depressed at the current state of perfumes in this IFRA-infected world. I would also hug her for her blunt statement in a 2010 interview with the Perfume Shrine that she will never reformulate her perfumes, allergies be damned! “No, we haven’t reformulated anything. I never will. Nor discontinue any in our fragrance rotation. We have 12 fragrances now and I absolutely love each and every one of them. I don’t want to make any changes!” When asked what she would say to a customer asking about allergic reactions, her response was:

I say “If you think madame that it might be give you any risk of an allergic reaction, it would be best if you didn’t buy this perfume”. We talk over some of the ingredients (if the customer knows about any specific trigger or if we think there might be some) and I say “just don’t buy it”. In the end, I don’t give a f*ck if they buy or not, as long as we’re stand our ground and do not mislead. *laughing*

Fascinating as Ms. Pilkington is, nothing is more so than Tolu. I’m hard-pressed not to summarize my entire review in one word: heaven! But, in an attempt to make you understand why I am so thrilled (and why I had to keep stopping writing to sniff my arms), let me tell you more about the scent itself. According to Fragrantica (where it has nary a single bad review), Tolu is classified as a Woody Oriental. (I think there should be a new category entitled “Perfect Paradox.”) It is technically a woman’s eau de parfum, though I think a man could pull this off, especially during the dry-down.

You know those word association games? I put on Tolu and the very first word that shoots across my brain is “Enchanting!” In fact, that is the first thing I jotted down. There is warm, billowing blanket of orange blossom which immediately rolls onto the skin. It’s not screechy, sharp and overpoweringly cloying like Tom Ford‘s Neroli Portofino, nor is it overly sweet like many synthetic orange scents. It’s also not light and imperceptible like the orange in a few niche perfumes. It’s heady in a soft way, and is one of the brightest, freshest orange blossom scents I’ve smelled in a long time. The sillage is also powerful, which makes me ecstatic as, far too often for my liking, orange blossom is merely a faint hint amongst many supporting notes. Not here. It is the star, stage center, with the brightest lights shining on it.

Mimosa in the South of France.

I must confess at the outset that I have a monumental weakness for orange blossom that supercedes many other ingredients or notes that I love. And the orange blossom here reminds me strongly of the oils or essences used in my favorite body cream, Couvent de MinimesOrange Blossom. Here, as there, there is a purity to the scent that makes it clear that real oils were used in the product. It calls to mind my childhood in Cannes with visits to Provence; I am immediately transported back to my old home at the end of Spring. Summer is around the corner, and there is a vast sea of orange trees in bloom along side golden mimosas bushes swaying in the wind under blue skies that are neither hazy with heat nor pale eggshell blue from the winter. The orange is intoxicating, narcotic and, yet, so airy at the same time that it feels like fizzy champagne in an odd way. It’s been only 15 minutes and, yet, I ponder currency exchanges in my head and whether my bank account can afford an immediate purchase, while the sane part of my brain pleads to wait out the full development of the perfume before acting rashly.

Juniper berries.

Thirty minutes in, a faintly smoky warmth starts to creep in. Amber that is rich, almost nutty, and with a faint hint of smoke from incense. Oddly, the scent on one arm is very different from that on the other where I smell no amber at all but, rather, crisp pine needles and balsam. It must come from the juniper berries listed in the top notes, and it is fresh, bright and rich — as if plucked just moments before from living trees growing on the high reaches of the snowy Alps. Clearly, some extremely expensive oils must have been used because at no time does it smell sharp, synthetic, or like the common air-freshener sort of pine in some perfumes. On both arms, the orange blossoms seem to have receded momentarily, as if to make way for the fresh, woody pines and amber, but it is just for a moment. The orange blossom is not only the quietly solid foundation upon which other notes rest, but a permanent part of this opening stage.

Soon, the juniper recedes and the flowers return. As always, there is the rich top head of orange blossom but there are other accompanying notes, too, even if they are but supporting players on the stage. There is also orchid and lily-of-the-valley. Orchid is a hard scent to describe, or even to classify, as it can smell of a variety of different things, depending on type. To me, white orchids can sometimes evoke the light purple impression of lilac and hyacinth, but in an oddly earthy way. That is the way the orchid seems to smell here. Lily-of-the-valley (or muguet) smells somewhat similar to my nose, without the earthy richness. The Perfume Shrinedescribes lily-of-the-valley as follows:

Lily of the valley is technically a green floral with rosy-lemony nuance [which] … has been adequately used in classical fragrances as a catalyst to “open up” and freshen the bouquet of the other floral essences in the heart, much like we allow fresh air to come in contact with an uncorked red wine to let it “breathe” and bring out its best.

To me, however, lily-of-the-valley is a light, fresh floral note that smells almost like a green, lilac-hyacinth hybrid. Here, it counters the headiness of the orange blossom with freshness that is dewy and ethereally light. It is almost sheer, and yet, it has depth and richness. The note makes Tolu, in these very early stages, call to mind the delicacy of Dior‘s Diorissimo, a very lily-of-the-valley scent.

Thus far, Tolu has leaned far more towards a floral scent than an oriental, let alone a spicy woody one. There are amber notes which flicker back and forth, but, for the first two hours, I have the reverse experience of what some people report. I don’t get spice right off the bat at all. There is the Diorissimo resemblance from the lily-of-the-valley, along with some rose and the hyacinth-like notes of orchid. And all of this is within the warm haze of orange blossom. The latter is something which projects outwards, while the other scents are closer to the skin, almost as if they were inside a big, airy, orange coccoon.

I can now smell the clary sage, but never think that it is the same sort of sage that you use in cooking. According to a helpful discussion on Basenotes, clary sage is nothing like regular (Dalmatian) sage that you have in your herb rack. It is sweeter, fresher and with a hint of peppermint, while Dalmatian sage is more bitter, biting and aromatic. Clary sage is also said to have elements of lavender in its odor profile and, sometimes, even of green tea. Here, it adds to the impression of freshness and lightness in Tolu, while also adding a faintly minty, sweet note that cuts through some of the richness of the orange blossom. It’s almost as if a faintly minty lavender note has joined those orange blossoms and dewy, green flowers, but it’s so light that I wonder if I imagine it at times.

That lightness, along with much of the airiness in Tolu, brings me to one of the perfume’s several lovely contradictions. It is airy and light, while narcotically heady and heavy. I realise that I’m not making much sense. It is the ultimate example of a paradox and really requires that you test out this scent yourself to understand it. The best way I can explain it is that there are two polar opposite groups of scents here. The first is the dewy, fresh, green, spring-like notes: lily-of-the-valley; white orchid; lavender-y and minty clary sage; and then, lilac and hyacinth (though they are not listed as ingredients, their smell is there to me). It flashes colours of white, lavender, soft lilac and bright green, all in a soft, airy light of the dawn’s first dew. The second competing group is the scent of just one thing: orange blossoms. Narcotically heavy, almost inducing an obsessive inability to resist sniffing my arm, triggering an utter delirium of joy amidst the flashing colours of bright orange at the heart of noon. It is a paradox, yes, but it is also a sign of a masterful hand. I contemplate why I only smelled Tolu after Christmas, and not before when it would have been at the very top of my wish list.

An hour in, rich vanilla starts to appear. It’s creamy, not powdery, and smells faintly like a rich, banana custard. It almost makes me think of ylang-ylang but there is no such ingredient in Tolu. Some people on Fragrantica have referenced an oriental milky rice note, but I think the accord is far richer and heavier than the light sort of milky rice note I associate with scents like Kenzo‘s Amour line. I think the issue here is the combination of tonka bean and tolu balsam. Tonka bean smells of vanilla, while tolu balsam is a tree resin. Unlike benzoin, another resin, tolu balsam has a nutty, sometimes almond-like accord to accompany its vanilla and cinnamon heart. (You can read more about tolu balsam and other resins in the Glossary.) It has a greater richness and depth than the often powdery benzoin accord.

Soon, tolu balsam’s soft, lush, warm vanilla notes are joined by spice and smoke. I smell rich frankincense, but it is not peppery or dirty. The vanilla from the tonka bean and its accompanying powder notes soften the blunt edges of the frankincense, turning the latter into a light swirl of black smoke, rather than a heavy darkness. The rich resins and the myrrh create an impression of caramel and amber, but touched with a woody pine accord.

Three hours in, and all the way to the end of its dry-down at hour seven, Tolu is all incense, vanilla, honeyed amber and caramel, with a hint of pine. The subtle smoke and incense are gorgeous, as is the surprising earthiness that contradicts the velvety softness underlying the sweet scent. That said, for me, the dry-down never really progresses much beyond the panoply of resinous notes. It’s lovely, rich and soft, but I preferred those hypnotic opening and middle notes. (It’s hardly surprising given my passion for orange blossom.)

All in all, this is an utterly luxurious, captivating scent. It doesn’t perform twists of complexity, doesn’t have suddenly crazy notes popping in at a random stage, doesn’t try to shock you with something edgily disturbing, and doesn’t do anything other than the promise Ormonde Jayne made at the outset: “one of quality and true luxury, the pursuit of beauty and elegance.” It is a perfume that I have to have. It is a scent that will make me join the legion of admirers on Fragrantica who repeat “gorgeous,” “sophisticated,” and “classy” like a broken record. It smells of wealth and luxury; the sunny South of France interposed with the pine-covered snowy Alps of Gstaad, and the smoke of the Orient. It is a paradox wrapped in opulence, but it enchants you from the very first whiff. And it is utterly perfect.

DETAILS:

Sillage & Longevity: Enormous sillage for the first three hours, then closer to the skin. However, on others, the projection is reported to last even longer. As for longevity, it was quite good, though as always you have to keep in mind that my body consumes perfume. On me, I could smell traces of it on my arm seven hours after putting it on. It was soft, but it was there. On others, the longevity is reported to be enormous.

Cost & Availability: The fragrance is available in perfume extract (30%) and eau de parfum (25%) in 50 ml flacon. Tolu is available at the Ormonde Jayne store in London, at Harrods in London, Fortum & Mason, or on Ormonde Jayne’s website. It is not sold in any department stores in the U.S. The website offers purchases in USD currency and, until January 14th, 2013, all shipping is complimentary with a hand-poured candle is offered as a free gift. The website’s page for purchases in US dollar lists the costs of Tolu as follows: a 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle of eau de parfum costs $126, while the pure parfum comes in a 1.7 oz/50 ml “premium French flacon with a gold OJ motif stopper and Japanese ribbons” and costs $300. There is a set of travel sized purse sprays (4 x 10ml) that costs $100 and a Discovery set of all 12 fragrances in 2 ml mini-sprays for $75. The latter is described as follows: “Ormonde Jayne’s Discovery Set is comprised of 12 x 2ml mini sprays of eau de parfum, together with a brochure explaining each perfume, all housed in a black and gold box… and whats more, the shipping is complimentary worldwide.” Tolu is also available in different bath, lotion, cream and candle forms. Harrods sells a 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle of Tolu for £80.00. Ormonde Jayne fragrances are also sold in Brussels, Belgium at Senteurs d’Ailleurs and at Osswald in Zurich, Switzerland.

Samples: You can also order samples of Tolu from various sample sites. The one I use, Surrender to Chance, sells samples starting at $3.99 for half of the standard 1 ml vial. Surrender to Chance ships worldwide for about $5.95 (though it’s a little bit more for larger orders over $75), and for $2.95 for all orders within the U.S., regardless of the size of the order.